


i sink the boat of love; but that comes later

by markiafc



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Dooku: Jedi Lost (Star Wars), Kissing, Love, M/M, Planet Dantooine (Star Wars), Rarepair, That's it, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27268321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markiafc/pseuds/markiafc
Summary: In which Dooku and Sifo-Dyas share a kiss on Dantooine.
Relationships: Dooku/Sifo-Dyas (Star Wars)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	i sink the boat of love; but that comes later

**Author's Note:**

> this ship is the bane of my existence

They kissed in the middle of the meadows; a sea of grassland unfolding from their feets in endless sweeps of green, and green, and green, bespeckled with boundless spreads of colour: whites dotting, yellows mottling, purples dappling. Sifo-Dyas and Dooku, both, rooted themselves to the dirts of Dantooine in boots dark and thick like kindled pots. Their hooded heads stood simple and tall as yet another pair of buds billowing in the teeming lea, and their silhouettes — one charming caramel and one brooding brown — melded together into an idyllic dream, almost; a sight seemingly stirred the dimming dwams of a painter perfect who slept their slumber on flower beds and petal pillows.

The breeze, dry and scented with fallen apples faraway, turned their earthen-dyed robes into flags flapping in surrender to the other: warmed wool flattened to their sides and then fluttered out the other end from their shoulders, wide swathes of Temple weave rippling in the shapes of ceaseless currents. The wind was their aerial assistant at work, and it aided them in their accord of breath-borrowing. They were ceding conciliators meeting with a bliss so disclosed they bartered in breath and sealed ententes with their lips; Dooku breath-taking because he would like to leave his oldest friend dazed and deliquesce; Sifo-Dyas breath-stealing because he would like to leave his dearest friend stunned and in pursuit.

They endeavoured to beguile one another into blossoming open-mouthed on this field. It was a tussle of tenderness and trust, noses brushing and tongues tangling. The craving were coaxed into this conflict with the hem of their cowls beating by their cheeks. The starving were seduced into this strife with stray strands of loose fringes flying into their eyes. The wind was their invisible wingman at work, and it officiated them in their match made for two winners equal. Calefaction; the sun shone in the sky to simmer them under their layers, and another sun swelled inside Dooku to simmer Sifo-Dyas through his eyelids, shut. It was a heat no gale could calm. Dooku was daylight distilled into a gent, and Sifo-Dyas was sun-addled and spellbound.

How many ways can one embody a daystar? Sifo-Dyas wondered. And he stroked his way up Dooku’s clothed chest in search of answers, sluggish and slow, seeding his clutches in the cloth of Dooku’s crossed-collars so he could pull Dooku close, closer and then closer, closer, closer, stopping only to drag his bare cheek along the length of Dooku’s jawline. The friction of his beard burned Sifo-Dyas to the bone, and he caught the scent of sunlight in Dooku’s robes so condensed it slides closer to smoke. He nestled closer to the sensation of the biting beard, and it felt like a match being struck, skin on skin, a fire being sparked. His fetching foe, Dooku; his adversary most attractive, Dooku; his elegant friend ensnared, _Dooku._ Sifo-Dyas ached to consume the solar whole.

And Dooku, staying shadowed and sweltering under his heavy hood, thought of flowers like a common fool. The dandelions of Dantooine, to be precise. The details drafted down off datapads of their sap bitter and biting, their petals pleasant and patient, and their crowns the sweetest and kindest sections. He thought, like a conning poet, that he and Sifo-Dyas were becoming a dandelion, one, their parts placed into a sole entity. He thought, by the ways of scheming sonneteers, Sifo-Dyas touched him like a honeycomb sinking into cool milk, and he tasted like petals plucked to steam in porcelain cups. How many ways can one being embody a daystar? Dooku snuck his hands beneath the hefty hood, under hems trembling like leaves in the breeze. And his hands of large calloused palms and long bony fingers found the sides of Sifo-Dyas’ face. He thought, like a sly lyricist, Dooku could cradle light itself and it would treasure his touch too much to sear and scorch.

“Do I suit your tastes?” Sifo-Dyas whispered, well-kissed and wetted lips breaking away and then rounding to thank one of the two hands caressing him. He presses a purr, so low in his throat it teeters on a growl, straight into the palm of Dooku’s hand. “You and your appetites, and your particular palate. Do I satisfy, Dooku? ”

“Very.” Dooku whispered in return, the sound of his words deep and deepening still. His hands were now warmed by the flush on Sifo-Dyas’ face, and he shifted them to guide himself back into his friend; their foreheads tapping and staying, noses bumping and then sliding past, fresh air flitting through the tiniest of gaps between them before they drew their curtains to a close. “Si, you are...” Dooku murmured softly to Sifo-Dyas’ lips. “Fascinating.”

“And you,” Sifo-Dyas said, silencing his cackle in a series of kisses. “You’re dreadfully dull.”

"You _lie.”_ Dooku hissed. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sifo-Dyas laughed in the colour of wisping clouds, and they were so close Dooku could practically inhale the sound. “Probably should do something about that. Perhaps, ah, a punishment befitting the crime?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“Uhuh,” And Sifo-Dyas leaned his lips to the smirk he had made in Dooku. His hands slid off the collars and around to Dooku’s neck where he traced a shiver to life and sent it down the spine. He felt his friend shudder in his grip and on his tongue, and Sifo-Dyas made himself an extension of Dooku’s nerves in every way he could.

He thought again, as Dooku did, of daystars and dandelions; and then they bloomed as best they could, both, around the other and into too, in search of another name for beauty in man and light in a kiss.


End file.
